Jean Plaidy - The Prince and the Quakeress

But Bute was his enemy from then on.

He sought the Prince and told him that on the day he became King he would have to find a way of ridding the government of that arrogant Pitt.

* * *

Pitt was triumphant. He had persuaded the King that it was to the country’s interest to provide Frederick the Great with a subsidy that he might fight England’s battles in Europe.

‘We have a small island, Sire, a small population; we need an Empire. Let Frederick take care of our commitments in Europe and we will turn the Frenchman out of Canada and India. These territories will be of more use to us than anything in Europe which is too costly to hold and will never be worth the money and effort we spend on it.’

The King was loth to send money to Frederick, but he saw Mr Pitt’s point; and he was with him.

So very soon was the country.

The tide was turning. Victory was in the air. Clive was going ahead in India. Amherst and Wolfe were doing well in Canada.

This was Mr Pitt’s plan and it was working. Englishmen were proud of their country. In the streets they were singing Dr Arne’s Rule Britannia. Men congregated in the taverns to talk of great victories and Britain’s growing power beyond the seas.

In a few years the position had changed. England was no longer fighting hopeless wars on the Continent of Europe; it was building an Empire. This little island was on the way to becoming the greatest world power.

It was a great year. God save the King… and Mr Pitt. Britannia was preparing to Rule the Waves.

IN THE DRAWING-ROOM in which Mr Reynolds had painted her picture Hannah sat sewing. She no longer embroidered – a pastime she had learned from the sewing-woman, for in Mr Wheeler’s house she had never wasted her time in such a frivolous occupation. But how she had enjoyed it once she had learned! She would sit for long hours, her ears alert for the sound of carriage wheels which would announce her lover’s arrival, while her needle plied the cambric, and the reds and blues, the purples and whites grew under her hands. Now she was making clothes for her children. She had a family of two and another was on the way. She had become a fertile woman; she loved her children, but more than anyone on earth she loved the Prince.

Perhaps she had built up this love through her great need of it. She needed more than physical contact, more than constant declarations of loyalty and enduring affection; she needed to prove to herself that love such as she had could not be denied. It was her only excuse.

She spent long hours on her knees. ‘Oh God, show me how I can expiate my great sin. I will do anything, Thou knowest… save one thing. I will never abandon him until he abandons me. And if he does abandon me I shall go forth into the world uncomplaining. I have loved deeply; I have been loved and my love has been fruitful. If my children are cared for, if he, my love, is happy, I would willingly sacrifice my hopes of earthly joy.’

Was it true? Vehemently she assured herself that it was; but equally vehemently she trusted she would never be called upon to prove it. Yet, she could not rid herself of her early training. She did not believe she could go on living comfortably as she had for the last five years. Reckoning would come.

‘The sins ye do by two and two, ye pay for one by one.’ She could hear Uncle Wheeler’s voice droning on in the room behind the shop where they had eaten and prayed. She could feel the roughness of the rush mat on her knees; she could see the faces of the family, palms together, eyes closed, as the candle-light flickered across their faces.

‘Vengeance is mine,’ saith the Lord. Uncle Wheeler had always pronounced such utterances with particular relish.

Love, forgiveness, were words scarcely heard in the Wheeler household. She remembered that now.

Why was she morbid today? Because she was with child again? Because George’s visits were less frequent than they used to be? She must be reasonable. He was a Prince… a Prince of Wales and had now come of age. At any time he might be King. Naturally he was kept busy. There was so much to learn, he had told her.

She remembered that once he had mentioned these matters with regret; now he did so with excitement. George was changing. Was that what frightened her? George was no longer a shy boy; he was fast learning to become a ruler; and he had recognized it as his destiny. He no longer wished that he were not the heir to the throne. He was waiting… almost impatiently for the crown.

In one clear flash of understanding she saw the position clearly: George had changed and she had not.

A light scratching on the door. ‘Come in.’

‘A visitor, M’am. Your lady friend.’

It showed how few visitors she had when Jane could be so introduced. My lady friend, thought Hannah. She might have said your only lady friend.

Jane was growing plump. She was a mother now and undoubtedly the head of her household. Hannah wondered how often she reminded her husband that he owed his good fortune to her astuteness in helping to pass Hannah Lightfoot over to a very important young gentleman.

She enjoyed Jane’s visits – the one link with the old days. When Jane sat sprawled in a chair, her fingers reaching for the dish of sweetmeats which Hannah always ordered to be placed beside her, Hannah could almost believe they were back in the bedroom over the shop, talking together while they looked down on the Market.

‘I’ve brought you news… such news,’ announced Jane. ‘I wonder what it means. I’ve been wondering since I heard.’

‘I pray thee tell me.’ She slipped naturally into the old way of speech with Jane.

‘It’s Isaac Axford.’

Hannah sat up gripping the arms of her chair; she felt the child moving within her, as though uneasily.

‘What… of him?’

‘Don’t look so scared. It’s good news really. It means he’s given up the search.’

‘Jane, I pray thee tell me. Do not keep me in suspense. I believe you enjoy that.’

Jane smiled. ‘He’s married again.’

‘Isaac… married! But how can that be? He is married to me.’

‘It’s five… nearly six years since that marriage, Hannah. It’s clear he thinks it is a marriage no longer.’

‘Art thou sure of this?’

‘You don’t think I’d come here with a tale like this if I wasn’t. I’ve even talked to her… the wife I mean. I went into the shop when Isaac wasn’t there and had quite a talk with her… she’s pleased with herself. Bartlett her name was… before she changed it to Axford. Then I talked around… you know how easy it is. But you don’t, of course, but believe me it is for me. One goody to another. All master’s wives together. Oh yes, I heard Isaac Axford’s done well for himself. He’s married an heiress… Miss Bartlett she were, and she’s bringing him in all of one hundred and fifty pounds a year. Very well-to-do she is and not proud with it.’

‘But he is not truly married…’

‘Oh come, now, you can’t expect a man to go without a wife for five or six years just because the first one deserted him at the altar.’

‘But even so… we were married. Does this lady know?’

‘That I did not discover. And if she did… I’ll dareswear Isaac had a good story. Marriage with the disappearing lady? Well, was it a true marriage? It was in Dr Keith’s Marriage Mill which is illegal in any case; and then the bride never was his wife in a manner of speaking, was she? And then she deserted him. Oh, I reckon Mr Isaac’s got a case all right.’

‘It is not that I blame him. I am solely to blame. He was ill-used. I wish him every happiness.’

‘He’s been searching for you… or pretending to… for a long time.’

‘Pretending to… !’

‘Oh, don’t ask me! There’s a lot of queer business been going on in this affair. I reckon Mr Isaac Axford was a bit smug. Perhaps there was some as made it worth his while not to search too diligently. Isaac’s a man to look to the main chance. You see, now he’s found himself a very comfortable wife. One hundred and fifty pounds a year… very nice. I doubt not he’s been well paid for all his trouble.’

‘And… my mother…’

‘Oh, I never see her,’ said Jane uncomfortably. ‘I never get my nose in that door, you can be sure.’

‘I think of her often. I hope she is not too sad.’

‘She’ll have got over it all by now, Hannah. Besides she’s got the pleasure of knowing…’

‘Of knowing what?’

‘That her daughter is in royal hands.’

‘Oh, Jane, Jane, I sometimes wonder what will become of us all.’

‘You’ll be all right. Nothing for you to fret about. Whatever happened you’d be all right.’

‘Whatever happened…’

‘Well, he’s the Prince, isn’t he? They’re saying in the streets that he’s going to be King soon. When it’s his birthday there’s quite a to-do. Bells ringing and all. And when I hear them I think: “That’s Hannah’s friend… my friend Hannah’s friend.” And I’m proud, Hannah, I’m really proud.’

‘There is really nothing to be proud of.’

‘You’re getting soft in the head, Hannah.’

‘I am dishonoured.’

‘Nonsense. Not when it’s a Prince. That makes all the difference. Now if it was a grocer… or a linen-draper or a glass-cutter… well that would be different, but this is a Prince, Hannah – and not just an ordinary Prince. This one could be a King.’

‘There is no difference in the sight of God, Jane.’

‘Oh, I was never religious like you, but I reckon Kings are special… to everyone.’

Hannah smiled. ‘Oh, Jane, thou art blasphemous.’

‘Well, whatever that means it makes you laugh, so it can’t be such a bad thing. No, Hannah, you’re too serious. You weren’t put here to be miserable… but to laugh and enjoy yourself. Else why were things put here to make us enjoy them?’

‘For our temptation perhaps.’

‘Temptations my aunt Jane… only I ain’t got one. No, I reckon it’s better for my children to have warm clothes to keep out the winds and good food inside’em and a fire to sit by, and to laugh and play together… I reckon it’s better for them to be happy like that than cold and miserable and always on their knees asking God not to let them have too good a time because it’s sinful. If being well fed and happy is sin… then I’m for sin.’

‘Thou art wilfully misconstruing my words, Jane.’

‘Oh well, let’s talk of something interesting. You aren’t so again?’ Hannah nodded. ‘Well, I knew it. Still, you like them, don’t you? Mind you, you want to take care of yourself. You’re looking a bit peaky. Still it’s often that way. To my way of thinking everything’s turned out wonderful. Hannah, let’s have a look at the picture.’

Jane stood before it and gazed at it in awe.

‘It’s beautiful, Hannah. Oh, it’s really beautiful! And this Mr Reynolds… he really is an important man. A lady mentioned him in the shop. She said no one could paint quite like Mr Reynolds, and that she was trying to persuade her husband to have her portrait painted.’ Jane assumed a haughty expression and went on: ‘“Anyone… just anyone who is anyone… must be painted by Mr Reynolds.” And I laughed to myself and I thought: Well, I know someone who has been painted by him. It was an order… a royal command. “Go and paint that lady… ” And, of course, he had to go.’

‘Jane, you talk too much.’

‘I always did, didn’t I? I was the talker, you the listener. Well, don’t you fret about Mr Isaac Axford. I’d say this is good news. He’s not going to go sniffing about for his first wife, is he, when he’s got a second?’

After Jane had left, Hannah sat looking at the picture. Mrs Axford, the lovely Quakeress, by Joshua Reynolds.

Mrs Axford no longer.

Change was in the air. Isaac no longer considered her his wife. The Prince’s visits were less frequent. At any time now she might hear that he had become the King of England.

Was this a premonition she felt – or was this sense of doom due to the fact that she was with child and feeling less well than she usually did at such times?

* * *

When George next called at the house he was alarmed by the sight of her.

‘Are you ill, Hannah?’ he asked fearfully.

‘It is nothing… nothing,’ she hastened to assure him, for she could not bear to see him anxious. ‘Perhaps this time it is a little more difficult than usual.’

‘I must send for Fothergill.’

‘It is not necessary. All is well. Thou must not worry.’